This past few weeks I’ve been running on ink fumes as I prepare to launch my first book into the Amazonic stratosphere. Self-publishing takes an enormous amount of work and concentrated effort, not to mention an intravenous caffein drip. From deep diving into the dashboard of the Facebook Power Editor for ads (warning: harmful to health) to emailing everyone with a pulse and a stylus in the blogosphere for a review, it begs the question why do I write at all?
After pondering it over it’s pretty obvious that, despite the pen-pusher lows that are an inevitable part of the journey, writing fires me up and makes me come alive. Maybe it’s a power thing. I can give my characters their hearts’ desire and take it away from them in the very next scene. I can kidnap people without being arrested for it, and force them to embark on jaw-dropping Baggins-like adventures. I can kill, save, and endow at will, with a few decisive strokes on my Macbook keyboard, or a deep-toned Dragon dictation decree.
Joking aside, I did manage to boil down the reasons I write to a few succinct points that confirmed I’m doing what I need to be doing:
In his article Writers Don’t Write to Get Published, Jeff Goins says that writing is a sacred act of creation. All art has a mysterious power to engage the emotions, nourish, heal, motivate, influence, connect with, and change the world around us. Art is for sharing, and when you give the words you create to the world, you write your story in indelible ink.